


one heart (soon becomes three)

by 3rdgymbros



Category: Black Clover - Tabata Yuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26423020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3rdgymbros/pseuds/3rdgymbros
Summary: in which you think that with fuegoleon in a coma, you'll have to go through your pregnancy alone - but the vermillion family prove you wrong.『 fuegoleon vermillion x reader 』
Relationships: Fuegoleon Vermillion/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 78





	1. patiently waiting for you to arrive

**Author's Note:**

> please please review!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In response, you hold out your arms. Leo comes into them, and you hold him. His cold skin, warming. His hair tickling your cheek, and the beating of his heart. You hold him as his pain forces its way to the surface, as he cries and screams until his voice turns hoarse, as the front of your dress turns damp with his tears.

> _I wonder whose hands and whose eyes you will have  
>  I wonder if you're gonna smile like your dad  
>  And nothing you ever do will be so wrong_

Your room in the Vermillion mansion faces east, so that the pale rooms are swathed in early morning sunlight every day.

It’s the sunlight streaming through the white muslin curtains, along with the quiet opening and closing of cupboards that intrudes into the comfortable haze of sleep that has wrapped its arms around you. You keep your eyes closed; trying to let the haze reclaim you, but the damage has already been done. You’re awake now.

You sigh, still not ready to untangle yourself from the covers.

In response, you hear your husband’s muffled laughter, the mattress springs creaking as he takes a seat on the edge of the mattress, and a moment later his fingers drift across your cheek.

“Did you sleep well, my love?”

You crack an eye open, see Fuegoleon already dressed in his uniform and red cloak. You’ve got a fourteen-hour shift in the infirmary to look forward to later, and you don’t particularly feel like getting out of bed as of yet. “Mmph.”

“Can I persuade you to leave for breakfast?”

A shake of your head. _No._

His hand cards through your hair. “I’ll have a tray sent in.”

Nod.

You’re not particularly eloquent in the early morning, until you’ve been plied with at least three cups of tea and Fuegoleon knows this. He laughs again. The sound is rare, and sends butterflies tickling your stomach, spreading through you in a heated rush of pleasure. Your eyes pop open.

“I’ll see you later.” His lips slide over your brow.

“Mmph. Tell you something ‘portant later, ‘kay?”

His amusement deepens, his eyes sparkling with laughter. “Alright.”

And then you’re out, surrounded in dark, cocooned in the warmth of your heavy sheets.

* * *

Although Magic Knights are regularly sent to the hospital in which you work – not that you _have_ to work, Fuegoleon’s income and family fortunes are enough to sustain the both of you, and your future children comfortably; but your work at the hospital is a valid reason to escape the constraints of being royalty, and fills you with a sense of pride at putting your healing magic to good use – you’ve never expected your husband to visit you in such a state.

There’s been an attack on the capital, and already, the hospital is overflowing with a never-ending stream of wounded. You’re bent over a lady with a bloodied arm when you notice a familiar head of auburn hair, and you glance up in alarm, the bandages and alcohol wipes forgotten and pushed to the back of your mind.

“F-Fuegoleon?”

 _It can’t be him,_ your heart whispers. _It is,_ your mind whispers back. You hurry over to the stretcher, catching only a glimpse of eyes devoid of life, the bloodied stump of an arm, before a healer pushes you impatiently aside. Your shoulder bangs into the wall, but you barely feel the sting.

“That’s my husband!” You cry, moving to follow him, but the healer is unwavering.

“He needs urgent medical care,” Is all the healer manages to tell you, before he hurries away.

Fuegoleon, then a stretcher bearing Leo, is whisked away into the emergency room. The door is slammed shut in your face.

You know they’ll do all they can for him, but you bite your lip and are unable to control the panic flooding through you. It’s all you can do not to barge into the room and demand to see the two members of your family.

You press your fingertips to the softness of your belly.

Relief and emotion make you weak, and you grit your teeth, determined not to cry.

* * *

You’re allowed to see him an hour later.

Fuegoleon lies placidly under a layer of freshly fluffed pillows and warm blankets, not moving, barely even breathing. He doesn’t even stir at the sound of you calling out his name, at your voice breaking on the start of a cry as your body sways with unshed sobs.

“Sister?”

You’ve never heard Leo’s voice sound so small before.

He might be one of the Magic Knights, but now right now, he’s a boy terrified of losing his brother. He looks small and pitiful in a bad that looks four times too large for him. You inhale, swipe at the corners of your eyes with the tips of your fingers, moving over to sit on the edge of his bed.

Leo’s hair is rumpled, his sleeping clothes mussed, and his eyes are red-rimmed and puffy.

“Sister . . . Brother will be fine, right?” He asks, with the vulnerability of a small child. His sadness is a palpable curtain descending over his bed. “He . . . He isn’t going to die, right?”

“Fuegoleon will be just fine,” You say, with a confidence that you don’t really feel, trying to keep up a brave front for Leo. You clasp at his free hand reassuringly, managing to find it within yourself to offer him a smile, wan and breaking apart at the edges, but a smile nonetheless. “He’s strong. He’ll definitely wake up. Just you wait and see.”

 _He can’t leave yet,_ you think upon barely-contained anguish, _not without meeting his child._

“Sister?” Leo asks again, in a voice clogged with unshed tears.

In response, you hold out your arms. Leo comes into them, and you hold him. His cold skin, warming. His hair tickling your cheek, and the beating of his heart.

You hold him as his pain forces its way to the surface, as he cries and screams until his voice turns hoarse, as the front of your dress turns damp with his tears.


	2. i wanna meet you so much i could cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning sickness is new. It’s constant, dragging you down, stopping you from thinking properly. For the past few weeks, you’ve had to get up at 5 a.m. to run to the toilet and vomit.

> _I wonder whose hands and whose eyes you will have  
>  I wonder if you're gonna smile like your dad  
> And nothing you ever do will be so wrong_

With casualties overwhelming every medical facility, you seem never to leave the hospital, much to the unspoken anxiety of Leo. The headquarters of the once-proud Crimson Lions is plunged into foreboding and depression at their captain’s uncertain state of health, despite repeated reassurances from healers that it was only a matter of time until Fuegoleon would open his eyes once again.

You find yourself the target of repeated condolences from other nobles, the false sympathy clear in their eyes when they speak to you, pointed barbs flung your way. You even receive suggestions for you to annul your marriage, hidden beneath concerns over you having to tether yourself to an invalid husband.

In the true nature of the family you’ve married into, you bare teeth and fangs and claws, and the other nobles soon back down, recognizing that you refuse to budge.

The sympathies expressed to you by other Magic Knights are far more tolerable, you find. Captain Vangeance appears bearing flowers, unexpectedly contrite. Even Nozel visits on occasion, throwing you a curt glance and a nod your way when he sees you waiting out in the hallway. Members of the Crimson Lions keep up a steady bedside vigil. Fuegoleon’s youngest visitors consist of your cousin Noelle, and her friend Asta – their time with Fuegoleon may have been short, but even then, he’d still managed to impact them in his own way, or so Asta had explained, his usual intensity dialled down to about a one.

You long to contact Fuegoleon’s older sister to tell her the news, but you have no idea where she is – it’s only when you hesitantly bring up your concerns to the Wizard King that he assures you he’ll find her. As he sweeps out in a flurry of red velvet, he congratulates you on your pregnancy, sounding as giddy as you’d first felt when the doctor had given you the news. Still, you summon a smile to your lips and thank him.

* * *

The morning sickness is new. It’s constant, dragging you down, stopping you from thinking properly. For the past few weeks, you’ve had to get up at 5 a.m. to run to the toilet and vomit. At the hospital, you can’t even get close to anything smelling of blood or alcohol; you’ve been stuck doing paperwork in the staff room. Eating supposedly helps, but you aren’t ever hungry, and you can barely force yourself into eating.

It’s almost as if your body is revolting against the child in your belly, as though it’s some kind of toxic growth.

“I know what’s wrong with you.”

Leo’s blue eyes are serious under his auburn fringe. You set your book down and turn to him, arching an eyebrow.

“There’s nothing wrong with me, Leo. I’m perfectly fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re tired all the time. You’ve been taking lots of medicine when you think I’m not looking, and you’re not eating well.”

You make a mental note to no longer underestimate Leo’s powers of observations. He’s always been rather . . . Oblivious, and you wonder what’s brought the change on. Is he trying to step up and look after you now that his brother is gone? The thought, admittedly, is touching, and you feel a wash of tears spring to your eyes.

“None of that means anything, Leo. I’m fine.”

“I’ve heard you throwing up in the morning. And you’re going to that church tomorrow.” Leo sits down on the edge of your bed, now far too big for you in Fuegoleon’s absence, and his olive complexion is drained of all color. “You’re dying, aren’t you? You’re going to the church for your last rites?”

You’re torn between the urge to laugh and cry. _Last –_ “No! Leo, no, I’m not dying – _Please._ Leo. I’m telling you the truth – I’m going to the church to visit a friend.”

“Then what’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me?” He demands, looking panicked.

“No. No no no, nothing’s – Nothing’s wrong. It’s actually – It’s good news, actually. Leo, the thing is –” You take a deep inhale, feeling your breasts aching and your body exhausted from the lack of sleep, the lack of food. “Leo, I’m pregnant. With your brother’s child.”

Exquisite happiness blooms on Leo’s face, sun streaming through cloud cover. Every trace of sadness is gone from his face, a slate wiped clean. “You’re pregnant? I’m gonna be an uncle?”

“Yes.” You agree carefully, watching Leo settle himself more comfortably on the bed, his legs draping over your stomach. You adjust them so that they aren’t pressing down on your bladder. “You’re the only one besides the Wizard King who knows, and I’d like to keep it that way for a while. Please.”

Leo’s expression sobers again. “Brother didn’t –”

“I didn’t have the chance to tell him,” You admit, your face clouded with sadness. Your words summon the lost Fuegoleon to you both; for a moment, you fall silent, unable to suppress the emotions churning your insides about like a storm. Then, finding your balance again, you turn to Leo briskly, petting at his hair and forcing happiness into your voice. “It’s never too early to start thinking about baby names. Why don’t you try to come up with some, Leo?”

“I will!”

* * *

Fuegoleon used to hate having you trail after him everywhere when you both were younger. He ran, he hid, he called you names, but you still wouldn’t leave him alone. His patience finally ran out one day and he pushed you into a closet and locked the door. You were in there only ten minutes when his tutor, Theresa, found you crying, but it was the most trouble Fuegoleon had ever gotten in.

“She’ll be your wife one day!” Theresa told him later. You don’t remember Theresa as a woman being fueled by her anger. Rather, she was the rare sort of person who listened far more than she spoke, and never raised her voice. That day, however, was the fiercest you’d ever seen her. “Is this the future captain of the Crimson Lions?”

You can’t help but think of that day now as you meet Theresa in the stained-glass church. It’s filled with noisy bustle and crammed with children and black-robed nuns wherever you turn. A baby screams, then a child runs by, and is quickly followed by another.

You follow Sister Sophia into an airy room, sparsely decorated, with a narrow single bed and a rickety set of drawers. Sister Theresa is bundled under a layer of blankets, her hair white with age and her skin creased like worn old leather, but her eyes and her mind are as sharp as ever. Her face creases into a smile at your approach.

“Sister Theresa, I heard what happened.” A gift basket of fruits are placed onto the table. As much as you wish that you could have baked a cake for her, strong smells are a problem for you, and just about everything makes you want to retch. “Are you feeling alright?”

Fiery as always, she snorts disdainfully, as though the wounds she’s sustained from clashing with the Midnight Sun leader are something to be waved off easily. “I’ve got years left in me yet, **( Your Name )**.”

“I only wish I could have been there to help.” Your powers are more suited for healing and defense, rather than actual combat, but still, the idea of being helpless leaves behind the taste of ashes in your mouth. “Especially after . . .”

Sister Theresa’s forehead puckers, her voice incredulous. “In your condition?”

You swallow. Your voice shakes, and you know that you aren’t fooling her, not in the least. “Condition?”

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

Your expression must betray your surprise, the fresh panic coursing through you, for Sister Theresa throws back her head and barks out a throaty laugh.

“Your _mana_ feels somewhat different. I have to concentrate to actually feel it, but I expect it’ll grow stronger in time as the baby grows.”

 _So much for it being a secret,_ you think ruefully, drawing up a chair and settling yourself into it.

* * *

Your body changes, softens to make room for the new life growing inside of you. Your belly rounds, the small bump already painfully obvious through your form-fitting dresses and blouses; you’re forced to buy new, looser dresses of simpler designs, made of smooth and light fabrics, lacking the finery and weight of the gowns that the royal ladies in court prefer.

You can’t help but wish that Fuegoleon were able to see you rounding. The sound of his laughter still lingers in your ears like a faraway dream; you remember his face on the pillow beside you, the scented silk of his hair. You think that he would have possibly gifted you with dresses, hairpins, anything you might have asked for, would have smiled in a way that would have rendered you breathless.

You can do little more than speculate now, sitting on the very edge of his bed, drawing his chilled hand to rest atop the slight swell of your belly. You talk to him in soft, hushed tones, carding your hand through his hair, rubbing lotion into his hands, dampening his lips and cleaning his face with a warm washcloth.

The rest of the Crimson Lions are also quick to realize that they’ll be welcoming a new member into the squad.

At once, the headquarters, sunk for weeks into a state of lowered voices and black reverie, regains some semblance of its old momentum. The kitchen bustles with the preparation of elaborate dishes, gardeners are summoned to trim the trees, and the members of the squad throw themselves into training with a renewed focus and vigor, under Vice-Captain Randall’s careful eye.

Nausea still weighs you down, and lashes about at your insides, but their attempts to lighten your heart still manage to draw out a smile from you.

( You do, however, have to insist that no, you do not need a squad of knights following you to work and back. )

* * *

You don’t have anyone else, so you ask Leo to accompany you to the physician. He eagerly steps up to the task, far too keyed up for a simple trip to the doctor’s.

The gel on your stomach is warm, the magic tool tickling your skin as it’s moved over your belly.

Leo watches, expectant. You watch him. You can see the exact moment when the baby appears because his eyes widen, his face softening in wonder.

“Congratulations. You’re having twins.”

You breathe out Fuegoleon’s name, a needle of pain going through you.

_Twins._

_Our babies._

You look at the screen. Two little bodies, floating in a sea of black and grey.

“Fuegoleon,” You breathe out again, and turn your head to the side to hide the tears welling in your eyes.

* * *

Mereoleona sweeps back into everyone’s life with the force of a typhoon, wild and demanding, a storm in human skin.

She’s been gone from court for so long, and if you’re being honest, you didn’t think that the Wizard King could track her down – though it appears that your fears are all unfounded.

The Crimson Lions greet her exuberantly, their voices rising into a high crescendo; Leo seems particularly pleased to see her.

“I hope you haven’t been slacking off!” Mereoleona yells back, just as loudly. The carcass of a wild boar is slung over her shoulder. It’s a wonder that her voice alone isn’t enough to rouse Fuegoleon from his coma. “Until that foolish younger brother of mine wakes up, I’m taking over!”

You clap a hand to your mouth, bolting for the door and rushing to the toilet. You only just make it in time before you vomit what little breakfast you’ve been able to consume. You retch again, and again, in noisy and violent gushes.

You hear the door opening, and you think it’s Leo at first, bearing your usual cup of ginger tea and your medicine.

But when you look up, through watering and dimmed eyes, you discover that it’s _Mereoleona_ who’s followed you.

“I heard. Does that idiot know?”

Unsure if she’s referring to Leo or Fuegoleon, you shake your head, and then have to retch again. There’s nothing left in your stomach, but your body doesn’t seem to care. A hand appears next to your head, holding a wad of toilet paper. The fingers are tanned and wholly familiar. You take the paper and wipe your mouth, murmuring thanks.

The sickness is abating a little bit, so you flush the toilet and sit on the floor, leaning against the door. Her hand appears again, holding a flask of water. You take it, again murmuring thanks, taking a long drink and rinsing the taste of sick from your mouth.

“Clean up, then go to the dining room.” You wonder if it’s a figment of a fevered daydream, how her voice seems to soften just a little when she speaks to you. “You haven’t been eating well, have you?”

Tiredly, hollow-cheeked, with dark shadows smudging your eyes, you shake your head. _No._ You try to tell her that you really can’t stand food right about now, but your protest dies away when you see her face, stubbornly unwavering. She won’t take no for an answer, and so, you nod, resigned.

“I’ll cook you some meat.” With an abruptness that you remember as typical, she turns to leave in a flurry of midnight blue robes.

“Mereoleona?”

She stops.

Your voice falters, but you find enough courage to go on. You have no idea if the sudden onslaught of tears are caused by the wash of hormones swimming through your system, or if you’re just glad to be surrounded by family so that you won’t have to struggle through this pregnancy again. “I – I’m . . . I’m so glad you’re back!”

“Lions look after one of their own.” Mereoleona says, and then she really does leave.


End file.
